The Night Descending
by penpunk
Summary: To reach the end, sometimes you must start at the beginning. Harry must delve into the dark secrets of the wizarding world if there should be any end to the evil that has descended, including the pasts of those he trusts most. HBP Spoilers
1. Bleeding into the Blackness

The Night Descending

By penpunk

Chapter 1: Bleeding into the Blackness

In the middle of a small room, a boy with a greasy curtain of black hair concentrated on the water stained ceiling above him. As he lifted his wand, he aimed and shot a burst of green sparks into the air, hitting his tiny black targets and causing them to fall. The dead flies hit the yellowed sheets of his unmade bed with a tiny sound of impact before he brushed them away onto the floor. He lay back onto the mattress, the spidery strands of hair falling away from his face, revealing a hooked nose, black eyes and sallow skin.

Severus Snape looked about his small bedroom idly. The walls seemed closer together in the hot August afternoon. Scattered about the floor were piles of books, rolls of parchment, most filled end to end with tiny cramped writing. In one corner, a small, scraggly black cat stretched in a padded box before turning in a circle and settling itself back down.

The dirty walls of the room were bare, save for a yellowing star chart pinned up next to the small window. The threadbare curtains were pulled over the window, allowing in ample amounts of sunlight. Severus couldn't wait to go back to the dark corridors and chambers of the dungeons and Slytherin common room. There, it would be quiet, without the constant chastising he got from his father about his constant studying. At least the Slytherin's left him alone.

His eyes narrowed at the sound of a door being slammed. The rickety house shuddered and the windows rattled at the sudden noise. A voice came from the next room, sounding agitated and intoxicated.

"Eileen? Eileen, where are you?"

Severus tightened his grip on his wand. It was only mid-afternoon and the sudden appearance of Tobias Snape's voice meant that the rest of the evening would be spent in an uneasy tension

"Eileen, where are you, you lazy woman?"

Severus could hear his mother shuffle out of the room across from his. He could hear the reluctance in her steps as she went out to meet her husband. And then the argument started.

Severus rolled over onto his stomach, resting his chin on his clenched fist as he listened to the exchange of words between his parents. His mother's low and sullen voice battled fruitlessly against his father's snarling and sputtering words. He was all too use to the arguments that ensued every time his father showed up, unexpected or not. Pulling out a book from under his bed, Severus concentrated on the page, trying not to hear the shouting from the next room.

"Tobias, that was your fourth job this month," said his mother, her voice rough with frustration. "Severus is going back to school. He needs his supplies."

Severus looked up to the calendar on his wall, which he used to mark the days off before he would be boarding the train to Hogwarts. Only a fortnight remained and the end of the holidays couldn't come soon enough. Though, in all reality, he was trading one hell for another, he would at least be matched against wizards his own age, not angry drunken muggles with a distaste for magic and meaty, eager fists.

"What's the use? Fat load of help magic has done for this family. I have the mind to pull him out of that mad house and put him to work. Get his nose out of those bloody books and into something respectable."

Severus' lip twitched at the words. He had heard them a million times before but they had yet to become less biting every time he heard them. He could hear his mother retort and then came the sound of skin contacting skin. His mother's sudden whimper caused him to jump off his bed, and out of his door, wand already held out in front of his body.

He had heard his father hit his mother numerous times. He knew that if he interfered, he would be on the receiving end of his father's rage, but something in the way his mother's voice sounded and the sharpness of the slap struck a nerve with him. He was a _wizard. _This dirty muggle shouldn't be a match for him. If his mother was just going to stand by and let him use her as a punching bag like some helpless muggle, Severus was going to have a say in the matter.

His father stood in the house's tiny kitchen, next to his mother who was holding her cheek. A red hand mark was appearing over her pallid skin. Her heavy brows knitted themselves in apprehensionas she glanced up at her husband and then to her son as he stood in the hallway.

"Severus, dear, go back into your room," she said in a low, almost whisper as she looked up contemptuously at Tobias, who turned as his wife mentioned the boy now standing defiantly in the hallway.

Father and son expressions were similar. Black eyes narrowed malevolently, staring coldly into each other. Hissing sounds were emitting from both Snapes as they breathed through clenched teeth. Tobias Snape turned his back on his wife, who was looking fearfully towards her son.

"And what do you think you're doing, boy?" he said as he walked toward Severus, his rounded shoulders squaring toward his son. "What do you think you're doing, pointing that stick at me?"

Severus could see the slight stagger in his walk and the smell of stale alcohol on his breath. His white collared shirt was stained and disheveled. Severus' lip curled in disgust as he looked into his father's eyes.

"Leave my mother alone," he hissed as the tried to control his emotions. As much as he wanted to appear brave, he couldn't help but to fear. His wand, held by long pale fingers, was starting to shake slightly. "She didn't do anything to you."

The older Snape barked a loud and cold laugh.

"Didn't do anything?" he sneered. "Boy, your mother's dirty little secret is the cause of all this. She could have warned me of all this unnaturalness and nonsense before she roped me into this marriage. And then there's you. Just as foul and magical as her, eating away at every penny I make to go to that bloody school."

"If you could keep a job, Tobias," said Eileen in a quiet, yet unwavering voice, "and didn't waste what little money we have on drink. We being magical has nothing to do with it."

Tobias reached back and hit Eileen again, causing her to fall back into a chair behind her.

"Well, why don't you wave your little wand and make some money appear?"

"Stop it," said Severus again, raising his wand a little more, stretching his arm closer to his father, as if he was willing it to explode at him without having to do anything.

"What are you going to do Severus? What are you going to do, boy? Curse me? You don't have the guts."

Severus kept his wand on his father as Tobias walked back to his mother. Tobias took a great clump of Eileen's thinning black hair and wretched her head back.

"Leave her alone," shouted Severus, though he couldn't keep the shakiness caused by the white hot rage and the blatant fear he was feeling at that moment.

"Do it then. Curse me. Show me what my hard earned money has gotten you these last three years. Go on," Tobias said sharply. "Show me one of your magic tricks. Something you've learned in one of those books that my money has paid for."

Eileen was sniffing loudly as Tobias pulled up on her hair, her heavy brows scrunched and wrinkled in pain. Severus' black glare gleamed as he looked his father up and down. They stood like that for a while, silent except for his mother's quiet whimpers.

Severus steadied his hand with a deep breath before a hex flew from his wand. His father staggered back before releasing his wife's hair. He brought a hand to his cheek, which had a wide gash across it.

Tobias advanced on Severus before the boy could react. He knocked the wand out of his hand with one swipe. Severus recoiled, turning toward the wall behind him.

"Not so tough now, are you?" Tobias sneered. He grabbed Severus by the shoulder and whirled him back around. "Face me like a man, you great bloody coward."

Severus tried to pull himself out of his father's grip but it was too strong.

"No you don't," he said as he grabbed Severus by the hair. "Fight me face to face. Not so tough without your wand, are you?"

Severus felt his father's hot breath on his face. The man before him stared him straight in the eye, his body swaying slightly in unbalance, waiting for Severus to retaliate.

"You coward. You stupid bloody coward," hissed the elder Snape as he shoved his son back down the hall. With a rough push, Tobias threw Severus into his room. Severus tripped and his nose collided with a bedpost. It immediately began issuing blood all over and he realized with defeat that he had no wand to fix it.

"You stupid worthless coward. No magic to help you now. Coward, that's what you are. Ugly greasy little coward."

Severus Snape's eyes opened with a start. He rolled off his back and groped along the bedside table beside him, his hand clenching around his wand.

_Coward_.

He could still hear his father's voice echoing in his ears. However, it gradually melded with another louder and filled with rage, more so than his past memory. He shook his head of the memory as he sat up in bed, his legs twisted and strangled by the sheets covering is angular body. The same curtain of greasy black hair framed his older sallow face and prominent nose.

With a flick of his wand, the candle next to him lit, casting an eerie dancing light around the small room. A tiny window above him leaked in a slight breeze, rustling the insect-eaten curtains that covered it. Across the room, another small bed was occupied by Draco Malfoy's sleeping figure. His disheveled blonde hair flickered silvery in the candle light.

Snape pulled his legs out of the tangle of sheets and rested them on the worn and dusty floor. He stood and glided over to a cabinet in the corner. Drawing out a cloak, he threw it over his thin shoulders and swept out of the room.

The stairs leading to the first floor creaked under Snape's feet. He could hear faint voices in a room beyond him. As he reached the bottom of the flight, shuffling steps revealed a small man with beady, watery eyes and a pointed pale face.

"Oh Snape, it's you," he said as he stopped before the taller man.

"Who else would you be expecting?" Snape said as he looked at Wormtail with a controlled amount of contempt.

"Oh, never mind," said Wormtail as he wrung his hands, one of flesh and the other of silver. "Everyone is in the kitchen."

"Everyone?" Severus' eyebrows lifted slightly.

"Amycus, Alecto, Yaxley," he said, ticking names off his silver fingers. "Bellatrix."

Snape's thin lips curled at the mention of the last name.

"So Bellatrix has decided to grace us with her presence," he said darkly.

"The Dark Lord sent her," said Wormtail. "She sent me to get Malfoy."

"Leave him," said Snape. "Let him sleep. Whatever it is Bellatrix has to say, it can wait until morning. At least for Draco."

Both men walked to the back of the house, where candles lit a small, dirty kitchen. The hushed voices fell silent as they approached the entryway. Two wizards, one squat and lumpy with thinning brown hair, the other large with blonde locks, sat at a rickety table in the middle of the room. A stout witch with frizzy brown hair was leaning onto one of the counters, her large jaw resting on a stubby hand as she burned circles into the surface with her wand. In the far corner, stood a dark haired woman with heavy lidded eyes. Those eyes darted to the entryway as Snape entered, followed by Wormtail, who sat at the table and resumed drinking a cup of tea.

Snape retreated to the corner opposite Bellatrix and watched the room with slight interest playing on his face.

"Anyway," said the heavy jawed witch. "What is it you were saying, Bellatrix?"

"Nothing of importance, Alecto," she said with slightly pursed lips, casting a meaningful look from Alecto to Severus, who had his arms crossed over his chest.

"But-"

"Yes, Bellatrix," said Snape, smirking. "Do continue."

"It's nothing," she said, anxiously twisting a ring on her long tapered finger.

Snape made a derisive noise in the shadows of the corner. Alecto looked back and forth between Snape and Bellatrix as she tried to piece together the previous exchange. As she did, she screeched sharply as unnoticed flames from the counter top caught her on the hand.

"Alecto, if you insist on being a great bloody pyro," said Bellatrix, "at least pay attention to what you are catching fire to." The lumpy man at the table let out a wheezy laugh.

"Oh, shut up, Amycus," said Alecto, her round face reddening as she shot a jet of water from her wand onto the small flames.

"Where's the boy?" asked the large blonde at the table, in a slow, deep voice.

"Sleeping, Yaxley," said Snape, still watching Bellatrix, who was averting her eyes to the small kitchen window next to her. Snape was sure she'd detach her finger with all the twisting she was doing with her ring. What reason does she have to be so anxious?

"Why are we just sitting in this slummy old house?" said Peter, breaking Snape from his reverie. "Why haven't we been recalled to the Dark Lord's side?"

"Because he tells you to wait," said Bellatrix coolly, all trace of anxiousness gone. Snape could even hear the slightest bit of arrogance in her voice, as if she was privy to something the others were not.

"Besides," said Snape silkily, "what good are you to the Dark Lord when you are believed by everyone to be dead?"

"I'm just as useful as you, Snape!" snapped Peter, his voice becoming high and squeaky.

"Indeed," said Severus. "Tell me, when was the last time you did anything for the Dark Lord outside of dishes and serving drinks?"

"I- You- Look at my hand!" said Peter, his pudgy face reddening.

"Shut up, both of you," snapped Bellatrix as she moved out of the corner.

"What is it that you are doing here, Bellatrix?" asked Snape. "If you've come to simply referee and assuage Wormtail's restlessness, I see no reason for you to stay longer."

"Like I told everyone before you interrupted, the Dark Lord wishes for you to stay where you are," said Bellatrix.

"Ah, well," said Snape, "that much I figured for myself."

"But why?" asked Alecto, who was curling her wand through her frizzy hair.

Bellatrix snatched the wand from Alecto's hand as the side of her unkempt mane started to smoke slightly.

"_Because," _said Bellatrix, making herself heard over another outburst of Amycus' wheezy laugh, "everyone knows what happened at Hogwarts. Everyone knows that Snape killed Dumbledore, and that all of you were there, too. It was in the _Daily Prophet_."

"But Dumbledore is dead!" said Amycus. "Why bother to be discreet anymore? What do we have to fear?"

Snape looked calculatingly over Amycus. As dense as he was, he had a point. Dumbledore was the only wizard the Dark Lord ever feared. What was keeping the Death Eaters back from having full reign on the entire wizarding world?

"Timing is everything, Amycus," said Bellatrix. "The Dark Lord still has one obstacle to over come, but now that the old man is gone, it should be simple. Of course, if things had gone differently the night Dumbledore died, we wouldn't need to have this conversation…" She trailed off darkly as her eyes passed over Severus.

"Seeing as how the information, as useful as it is, has been relayed, I see no reason for you to stay," said Snape, trying to avoid the inevitable conversation that would surely follow.

"The Dark Lord also sent me to check in on you lot."

"Why, Bellatrix," said Snape smoothly. "Are we not capable of taking care of ourselves? Do you not trust us to handle this simple task? Surely the Dark Lord hasn't sent his _most _faithfulDeatheater on such a mundane task."

"I don't trust you, yes, but for other reasons," she hissed. "Yaxley tells me that you wouldn't let anyone touch Potter after you killed Dumbledore."

"Bellatrix," said Snape softly, "we have already had this conversation. The Dark Lord wishes to finish Potter himself. When we spoke afterwards, he did not fault me for my decision to leave Potter untouched."

"But he was there! Defenseless and without a wand. Amycus said that you shot it away from him."

"Did Amycus fail to mention that we were being chased by members of the Order, not to mention a crazed hippogriff?" said Snape.

"I didn't, now that I think of it," said Amycus. "Boy, it was screeching something unnatural. Wings flappin'-"

"Thank you, Amycus," said Snape calmly, as he raised a hand and looked back across the room. "I was more concerned with the present mission than dealing with the Potter brat. It was not in our orders to do anything with him. We did what we were instructed to do to the letter. The Dark Lord was please, was he not?"

"Well, yes he was," said Bellatrix. "But-"

"Then what more do you need to know?" said Snape, a little impatiently. "I do not wish to defend my loyalty to the Dark Lord to you again. What's done is done."

Bellatrix said no more but stared moodily at Snape as she crossed her arms.

"Now, if we're quite finished," said Snape as he turned on his heel and made to leave the kitchen.

"Not quite," she said. "I'm here to take Draco with me."

Snape stopped and turned back to her.

"Why?" he asked, his black eyes boring into Bellatrix's.

"That," she said as uncrossed her arms, her face brightening with arrogance once more, "is between me and the Dark Lord. Now if _you _are quite finished. Just bring the boy down here and I'll be on my way."

After climbing the stairs and reaching the landing, Snape turned left into the room. Draco lay sleeping, tightly curled on the naked mattress, a gray blanket covering him. Snape watched him for a moment apologetically, before shaking the boy on the shoulder.

Draco Malfoy turned twitchily at the touch and looked up at Snape.

"Get up, Mr. Malfoy," said Snape as he stepped back from the bed. "You're leaving."

" Wha s'matter?" Draco said sleepily as he ran a pale hand through his messy blonde hair. "Where are we going?"

"_You _are going with your Aunt Bellatrix," said Snape coolly. "Get up. Let's not keep her waiting."

Draco pulled the blanket off of him and got out of the bed. Sliding on his shoes, he grabbed a cloak from the end of his bed, made sure his wand was in the pocket and put it over his dirty robes.

"I'm ready," he said as he avoided Snape's eyes.

"She's downstairs," said Snape as he nodded toward the door.

Draco opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it after his eyes met his former professor's. Snape raised an eyebrow slightly, but then Malfoy turned and walked out of the room. He waited as he listened for the front door of the house slam before exiting the room.

Snape knew that he had come close to crossing a line that would bare great consequences if it got back to the Dark Lord. It was obvious that Bellatrix knew something that they all did not. Her sudden closeness with him was worrying and Snape knew he needed to watch his steps, lest his dislike for the woman come back to get him in the end.

Walking back into the kitchen, Severus poured a cup of tea for himself. Yaxley and the Carrows had left, leaving Wormtail in the kitchen to himself. He was still sipping at his cup of tea, a dark expression etched into his face. He was muttering to himself, the sound of his voice amplified strangely by the cup.

"Who does she think she is, talking to us like that…hrumph… Thinks she's something special to the Dark Lord… Well, we'll see how long that lasts."

Snape paid Wormtail no attention, but heard his mutterings.

'Indeed,' he thought. 'Who _does_ she think she is? More importantly, who does the Dark Lord think she is?'

Sipping his tea, Snape walked over to the small kitchen window, watching the first signs of day bleed into the blackness of the night.

A/N:

Yes, the description of the story says Harry. I promise this story is about him. Snape got his way with this first chapter though.


	2. Sentimental Reasons

The Night Descending

By penpunk

Chapter 2: Sentimental Reasons

* * *

Harry Potter had dreamed of this day since he could remember. He had dreamed of this day when he was still a bespeckled little boy living the small and spidery cupboard under the stairs. He would sit on his tiny bed and think of all the things he would be able to do once he was old enough to move out. He could eat all the sweets he wanted and watch television on his own set and have his own house to put it in. One where he could have a big bed, away from the dust and the cobwebs and the spiders.

It had been a long time since he had had those dreams. Then again, Harry was not that little boy anymore. It had seemed like decades ago when he had learned forma hairy half-giant that he, Harry James Potter, was a wizard. Dreams of sweets and his own house were replaced by a world that was so magnificent that Harry often found himself wondering if it was all a dream.

But it wasn't. And finally, after almost sixteen years of neglect at the hands of his relatives, he would be leaving Number Four Privet Drive forever.

The only people happier than Harry were the Dursleys. Since notifying his relatives that he would be leaving, and soon, Harry had to endure the many conversations about what the Dursleys could do with Harry's little bedroom and all the things that could be bought with the money that would be saved now that there would be one less mouth to feed. Harry's snarky remark about tailoring a circus tent for Dudley did not go over well, but he didn't care.

Harry took one more look around his now empty room. All the pictures and posters he had collected over his time at the Dursleys were taken down and packed away in his trunk. He made doubly sure that all the things he kept stowed away under the loose floorboard had been taken out and accounted for. Hedwig slept soundly in her cage, which rested on top of Harry's now empty desk. It was strange to think that all the almost 17 years of his life was packed away in a trunk, one that was being sat on by Ronald Weasley.

"Is that everything, then?" asked Ron as Harry plopped down on his unmade bed.

"Yeah, I think so," said Harry as he looked around the room.

"Well, I don't see any reason why we can't leave now," said Ron.

"We'll be safer in the morning," said Hermione Granger from across the room. "It isn't safe to travel at night."

"But we're taking the Knight Bus," said Ron. "Bang and we're back at the Burrow. Just like that. I doubt very much that You-Know-Who will be there, taking an overnight to Birmingham or something."

"Still, Ron, we'll be safe by day light," said Hermione. "I'm sure you mother would say the same."

"But I'm of age," he said, his voice whiney and contradictory to his claim of maturity. "What do I care what she says? I can do what I want."

"Doesn't matter, Ron."

Harry thought it strange that such a normal occurrence, something he had gotten so used to, was happening in such an odd place. Ron and Hermione arguing at Number Four was such a preposterous idea. But here they were.

Harry had only been back at Privet Drive for a couple of days when a knock on the door during dinner time had broken the Dursleys out of their usual surliness at Harry being back for the holiday. Harry had promised Ron and Hermione he would stay at the Dursleys for a week before leaving for the Burrow, to ensure that the charms placed on the place for his protection worked properly.

Harry didn't bother to look up from his plate of weird, watery pasta to see who it was who would be at the end of Uncle Vernon's anger at the interruption of their evening meal. Vernon, red-faced, waddled back into the kitchen and pointed a sausage-like finger at Harry.

"You, come here," he said, his mustache quivering slightly.

Harry got up from the table and followed his uncle into the hallway. Standing in the doorway, much to Harry's surprise and pleasure, were Ron and Hermione, beaming.

"What are you doing here?" said Harry as he rushed ahead of his uncle and met his friends at the door.

"We said we'd be here to get you," said Ron. "Bring you right back to the Burrow."

"What happened to waiting for a week?" said Harry with a smile.

"Do you honestly think you could have waited a week?" asked Hermione. "We know we couldn't."

Harry smiled widely at his two best friends. Vernon, on the other hand, was not amused.

"Do you mean to tell me that you expect me to let these _friends _of yours to stay here, in this house?"

"Yeah, I do," said Harry. He motioned for Ron and Hermione to follow him. He walked past his uncle and up the stairs. Ron and Hermione skirted past Vernon, who looked as though he were about to explode.

"Uh, lovely home you have," said Hermione sheepishly as she followed Harry and Ron. As Harry shut his bedroom door, he could hear the kitchen explode with his uncle's protest.

Harry watched Ron and Hermione argue for a while before leaving the room. It was getting more and more awkward to witness their fights, especially at the point where they decided to make up.

Harry sat on the top step of the stairs. He could hear his uncle's snores coming from the living room where the blue light from the television flashed. The light in the kitchen was on; no doubt his aunt was doing her nightly scrub down of every surface she could reach.

Harry yawned widely but knew that sleep would be impossible tonight. The growing anticipation that made his insides flutter was too much to ignore, and for a fleeting moment, he felt more cheerful that he had in days.

That cheerfulness was squashed, however, as his thoughts on what the coming months would bring him. He knew what he had to do. The night Dumbledore's death, his path had been its clearest, but with each passing day, his direction was being clouded with worry and the feeling of helplessness. How was he going to do any of this without Dumbledore's help? The trials they had faced to get a hold of the fake horcrux had been almost too much for two people. How was he going to do any of it alone? He expected Ron and Hermione would be by his side through everything, but he knew, deep down, that there were things he was going to have to face alone.

And how would he feel if he had somehow gotten Ron or Hermione killed? It seemed that that was the fate of anyone close to him. Even the most powerful wizard in the entire world fell victim to death at Harry's side. His parents, Cedric, Sirius and Dumbledore. Could he possibly stand to see Hermione or Ron added to that list?

Harry, who was lost in his thoughts, was caught off guard when he saw his aunt walking up the stairs. He made to get up, but she stopped in front of him. Harry looked her in her boney, horse-like face as she nervously listened downstairs. She looked back to him and said in a barely audible, but still short whisper, "come with me."

Aunt Petunia walked down the hallway, past Harry. Harry stood up slowly as he watched his aunt stop in front of her bedroom door.

"Hurry," said and Harry walked after her, a look of confusion on his face.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia's bedroom was like the rest of the house: impeccably clean and full of portraits of Dudley. The white four poster bed sat in the middle of the far wall. It was covered in a gaudy pink and blue floral bed spread, the blankets tucked in tight enough that it resembled a flowery trampoline. A matching white dresser stood against the wall opposite the bed. The entire surface was covered in framed pictures of his cousin, except for a small space that was occupied by an old television. The brownish gray screen was covered in dust and the bunny ear antenna was a little bent and crooked.

Harry looked to the left, where his aunt was standing on her toes, shuffling boxes around on a high shelf. Finding the right one, Aunt Petunia carried it over to Harry. She shoved it into his hands.

"What is it?" asked Harry as he examined the box. It was black and very heavy.

"Something of my sister's," she said as she eyed Harry. "I was told to give it to you before you left by that man."

"What man?" asked Harry.

"The one who took you last summer."

"Dumbled-"

"Yes," Aunt Petunia hissed at the sound of the late headmaster's name. "It didn't seem like an important thing to me, but I didn't want another of those red letter things."

"A howl-"

"Yes, you know what I'm talking about," she said.

Harry unlatched the silver clasp of the box and opened the lid. Inside, was a large piece of round glass. At first, Harry thought it was a crystal ball. He took it out of the satin-lined form it was nestled in. It was not a crystal ball, as he first thought, but a snow globe resting on an ornately carved silver base. Inside, Harry could see, through the moving snow, a miniature replica of Hogwarts castle.

"My sister got that for Christmas one year," said Petunia as she crossed her arms and stood a couple of feet from Harry's side. "I remember it sitting on our mantle for years, until Lily married and moved out."

"Who gave it to her?" asked Harry as he looked over at his aunt.

"That awful boy who told her about the dementors," said Aunt Petunia, a look of disgust on her face.

"If you're talking about my dad," said Harry indignantly, "he's got a na-"

"No, not him," she said, shaking her head. "No, it was another boy. He came to our house once or twice while she was home for the summer holidays."

"Who was it?" asked Harry with peaked interest.

"I told you," she said, her normal Aunt Petunia-ish demeanor coming back. "And besides, I avoided your lot at all costs. I had nothing to do with your mother's friends when they came over."

"What did he look like?" prodded Harry.

Aunt Petunia huffed.

"I gave you the box," she said. "That's all I came up here to do. Now, I expect you should get back to your friends.

Harry tried to protest. He wanted to get more information from his Aunt. She was, as much as she loathed it, one of the few living links he had to his mother. But Petunia was finished with this little stroll down memory lane. She ushered Harry out of the door and shut it behind him.

Harry looked down at the box before turning and walking back to his room. Ron and Hermione were no longer arguing. They had gotten past the awkward point of making up and now were talking quietly together. They both looked up quickly as Harry entered the room.

"Harry, where'd you go?" asked Hermione.

"My aunt gave me this," said Harry as he handed the black box to Hermione and sat down next to her. Hermione opened the box and took out the snow globe and gasped.

"Wow," said as she topped it to the side and shook the slow up inside. "It's beautiful."

"It was my mum's," said Harry. "My aunt said that Dumbledore told her to give it to me before I left."

"Why, do you suppose?" asked Ron as he pulled Harry's desk chair out and sat in front of them.

"Dunno," said Harry, "but I doubt it's for sentimental reasons. Why would Dumbledore have waited so long to let me have it?"

Ron and Hermione shrugged as they all watched the snow inside the globe float over the miniature Hogwarts.

* * *

Despite being convinced that that jittery felling of anticipation in his stomach would keep him awake all night, Harry woke up early the next morning feeling as if he had been asleep for days. He looked over to see Ron and Hermione still asleep on top of the cushions Hermione had conjured out of thin air. It was an impressive bit of magic and Harry wasn't surprised at all that Hermione could do it. She always did do well in Transfiguration.

Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Harry got out of bed. Grabbing a pile of clean clothes off his trunk, he changed in the bathroom across the hall. He tried to flatten his hair in the mirror, grateful that muggle mirrors did not commentate on the hopeless situation of his continually messy hair.

Ron and Hermione were awake by the time Harry re-entered his room. The thick cushions were gone and Hermione was busy casting cleansing charms on Ron and herself. Harry opened his already bursting trunk and packed away his previously worn clothes.

"Don't forget the box," said Hermione as she pointed to Harry's bedside table. The black box his aunt had give to him was sitting open. He strode across the room and latched the box's silver clasp and packed it away carefully in his trunk, moving clothes around it to cushion it in case of a bumpy ride. If he knew the Knight Bus right, and he did, bumpiness would be inevitable.

With Hermione carrying Hedwig's cage, Ron shouldering Harry's Firebolt and Harry dragging his trunk, the three of them made their way down the stairs, where the Dursleys were already awake and eating breakfast. All three relatives looked up as they heard the commotion on the stairs. Harry, without a glance, reached for the door knob, but was stopped by Hermione's hand.

"Are you going to say goodbye to them?" she asked, motioning toward the kitchen.

"Why does it matter?" said Harry. "Honestly, they won't care."

"Yeah Hermione," said Ron. "Let's just leave the prats be."

"Ron," said Hermione, throwing an incredulous glare at him before looking back at Harry. "They're your family, Harry."

Harry and Ron gave a derisive snort.

"Harry."

He sighed. "Fine, let's do this then."

He let go of his trunk and walked toward the kitchen. The Dursleys were just starting breakfast. Dudley, who was still in his pajamas, had his eyes glued to the television screen, his cereal barely making its way to his mouth. Aunt Petunia, still in her dressing gown and putting more bacon on Uncle Vernon's plate, looked up as the three teenagers walked into the kitchen. Even Dudley looked up at them as they entered.

Harry stared at them for a moment before Hermione nudged him forward. Vernon set his fork down, a tiny bit of egg hanging from his mustache.

"Right, well," said Harry, looking at all his relatives in turn. "I'm leaving."

The Dursleys all looked at him for a few, drawn out moments before Vernon spoke.

"For good, then?"

Harry nodded.

"We won't have to see you in our home again?"

"I suppose."

Rarely did Harry ever see his uncle smile, but there he was, smiling widely, his teeth peeking out behind his bushy mustache.

"Excellent. Well, good riddance to you all. No more freak friends blasting through our fireplace, no more intruders with funny clothes. No. More. Owls!"

This last perked seemed to excite Uncle Vernon the most.

"Does that mean I can have my bedroom back?" asked Dudley.

"Right you are Dudders," said Vernon. "You can use it for whatever you want. But you should wait until we give it a good scrubbing out first. We need to get rid of every little bit of freak left in it."

Harry could hear Hermione gasp beside him.

"Let's go," he said as he turned from the kitchen and walked out.

"I can't believe them!" said Hermione. "I knew they weren't exactly the nicest people-"

"We told you," said Ron.

"-but I never expected that," she said, ignoring Ron. "You're their family. Their blood!"

Harry picked his trunk up again and made for the door.

"You should know, more than anyone, that blood doesn't mean anything," said Harry darkly. "I only wish I was of age and could give them a nice magical parting gift."

Hermione looked debatingly to the left of Harry before setting Hedwig's cage down and running past Harry and Ron to a room to the side of the stairs.

"What's she doing?" asked Ron as the head of bushy brown hair disappeared behind them. Harry shrugged. Then there was a sudden rattle sound and a bang. Hermione came running back out.

"Let's go," she said as she picked up Hedwig's cage and opened the door. She had a slight tinge of pink on her cheeks.

"What did you do, Hermione?" asked Ron as he followed her out. Harry looked back at where Hermione ran from. It was the laundry room and Harry could see, as he dragged his trunk out of the door, thick white foam creeping out the door and into the hallway.

"Those people are awful," Harry heard Hermione say as he ran to catch up with them.

"I've been saying that for the last seven years," said Harry as he sat his trunk on the ground and pulled out his wand. "What did you do to the washing machine, by the way?"

"Bewitched it to spew out bubbles," said Hermione. "They'll just think the washer's broken. Until they disconnect the water line, that is, then it's going to trample through the house."

"Remind me never to make her angry," said Ron.

"It's a little late for that," said Harry with a grin, his mood lightening a little. "You remember that little bird attack, don't you?"

Hermione's face flushed, as did Ron's. Harry held his wand out in his right hand.

BANG

A purple, triple-decker bus appeared out of then air in front of them. A few trash cans rocked nosily as they jumped out of the way to make room for the bus. A squat man with curly red hair and a purple uniform jumped out in front of them. It was not Stan Shunpike, as Harry had hoped.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard," he said in a high-pitched but quite raspy voice. "Just stick out your wand hand, climb on board and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name Steward Croyde and I'll be your conductor."

"Why couldn't we just apparate," grumbled Ron as he handed the Steward eleven sickles and followed Hermione on the bus. Harry followed after, trying to avoid the conductors gaze as it swept over his face and up to his forehead.

"Where to?" asked Steward as he resumed his seat by Ernie, the driver.

"The Burrow," said Ron. "Just outside of Ottery St. Catchpole.

"Right," said Steward as he handed over their tickets. Ron, Hermione and Harry took seats in three open armchairs toward the back of the bus. The bus sped down Privet drive until

BANG

All three, expecting this, braced themselves from falling over. After picking up a hag in Southampton, dropping off three ancient wizards in Cardiff and depositing a witch and her six cats in Exter, the Knight Bus, with one final BANG pulled up in front of the Burrow.

After unloading Harry's belongings, Steward and the Knight Bus were off with another loud bang. Harry, Hermione and Ron walked to the back of the Burrow. The usual pile of Wellington boots and rusty cauldrons lay outside the door. Harry saw the kitchen window curtains fall back into place, and before reaching the door, Mrs. Weasley came out to meet them, her usually round and plump face was thin and drawn. She looked tired but put on a bright smile as she saw Harry walking towards her.

"Harry, dear," she said as she gave him a long, strong hug. "Glad to see you made it okay. The Knight Bus wasn't too troublesome, I hope."

"It was fine, thanks," said Harry as he picked up his trunk again.

"Oh, let me get that for you," she said as she drew her wand out of her fluffy pink dressing gown and levitated Harry's trunk toward the house.

"Thanks," said Harry as he followed her into the kitchen.

The Burrow had not changed since the last time Harry had been there, save for a few improvements that had been made, no doubt thanks to Mr. Weasley's promotion and raise and the twin's booming joke shop.

"Ron, take Harry's things to Fred and George's room," she said as she directed the trunk toward him. Ron levitated it past him and up the stairs.

"Sit down, Harry, sit down," said Mrs. Weasley as she waved him toward the kitchen table. "Are you hungry, dear? You Hermione?"

Harry and Hermione both nodded as she started to pull out bowls, plates and food.

"The muggles weren't too horrible, I hope," she said as she set a plate of steaming sausages in front of them both.

"No, they were the same as usual," said Harry, giving Hermione a meaningful look as she opened her mouth, no doubt to rant about the morning's events. Ron bounded down the stairs and plopped into a chair next to Harry, spearing a sausage with a fork and, not bothering to get a plate, biting off half of it in one go.

"What are all those boxes in Fred and George's room?" asked Ron thickly through a mouthful of sausage. "I barely got Harry's trunk in."

"Oh, I forgot about those," said Mrs. Weasley as she set a plate of scrambled eggs on the table. "It's all the merchandise being sent off to various ministry offices. Your father is going to take them in later in the week when Fred and George can get off."

"I don't think I've ever seen those two work harder in my life," said Ron as he heaped a pile of eggs onto Harry and Hermione's plates before taking the rest for himself. "They are always at the shop, even when it's closed. They've gotten loads of orders for their defense stuff, especially after Dumbledore died."

Harry's stomach gave a lurch, though it wasn't as strong as it had been right after the Headmaster's death. It saddened him even more that think that he was becoming accustomed to hearing the words and accepting the truth, despite the fact that he did not want to. Harry could hear Mrs. Weasley sniff loudly. She didn't turn for a while, but finally did when Ron asked for more sausages.

"I can't imagine Hogwarts without him," she said as she sat down at the end of the table, sipping a cup of tea. "But I suppose they'll try and carry on. Minerva is a good a person as any to continue Dumbledore's work."

"So they're re-opening the school?" asked Harry as he looked over at Mrs. Weasley. She nodded.

"Security is going to be tight as ever, of course," she said. "No Hogsmeade trips and no quidditch. They are going to keep the students in the castle as much as possible."

"No quidditch? Why would anyone want to go back?" said Ron, looking scandalized.

"School is more than quidditch," said Hermione, glaring at Ron.

"Harry's going to grin and bare it and get through the year," said Mrs. Weasley. "I'm sure you can do the same, Ron."

All three teens looked guiltily at each other.

"You didn't tell her?" hissed Harry in Ron's ear.

"Tell me what?" asked Mrs. Weasley as she looked at them all in turn.

"Mrs. Weasley," began Harry, not looking at her. "I'm not going back to school."

"_We're_ not going back to school," said Ron as he pointed to Harry, Hermione and himself.

"What? Of course you are," she said. "Why wouldn't you?"

"I can't tell you," said Harry.

Mrs. Weasley looked at him, her face pale and mouth open, but her eyes trying to find some hint of joking on Harry's face.

"Does this have something to do with Dumbledore's death?" she asked finally when she only saw seriousness in Harry's expression. Harry nodded.

"And we're going with him," said Ron defiantly.

"Hermione?" Mrs. Weasley looked Hermione dead on.

"We have to do it," she said.

"But you're children," she said weakly.

"We're of age, Mum," said Ron. "Fred and George didn't finish school and look at them!"

"You aren't opening a joke shop, Ron," she said. "Harry, can't you reconsider? Can't you at least convince Ron and -"

"I already tried," he said. "He won't budge. Hermione neither."

Mrs. Weasley didn't say anything, but Harry had the distinct feeling that she was reliving the boggart incident during the summer before fifth year, watching their dead bodies appear in turn.

"Mrs. Weasley, we have information that can get of Voldemort for good," said Harry, ignoring the flinch at Voldemort's name. He reached over and took her shaking hand. "Things Dumbledore told me before he died. We're not going into this blindly. We can't tell you what we're going to do, and I'm not going to lie; it's going to be dangerous, but we've faced dangers before."

"Yeah, Mum. We've done loads of dangerous stuff," said Ron, "and we came out of it okay."

Mrs. Weasley didn't say anything. She looked at them all again before nodding and going back to sipping her tea. She set the cup down and stood up.

"It's not like I didn't half expect this to happen," she said. "Just promise me you'll let the Order help as much as they can. Fully trained wizards-"

"Can die just as easily as us," said Harry, not letting her finish. "Mrs. Weasley, of course the Order will be helpful, but there are things that we are going to have to do alone."

"The nobleness is as thick as stinksap in here."

Everyone turned to see Ginny walking into the kitchen, a blue dressing gown wrapped around her slender frame. Harry's heart gave a leap at the sight of her.

"Ginny, go back upstairs," said Mrs. Weasley. "This is a serious conversation-"

"That I've already listened to," she said, taking a seat across from Harry and helping herself to the food on the table. "Mum, I'm not ten years old any more. I have just as much right to hear this conversation as you do. When the guy I've snogged the last month is talking about hunting down Death Eaters-"

"Ginny!'' Mrs. Weasley's face turned bright red, as did Harry's and Ron's.

"Well, it's true," she continued. "So that gives me just the automatic right to participate in this discussion. Are there anymore eggs?"

Harry smiled at Ginny and offered her some off his plate, which she took and began to eat. Over the last week, when Harry hadn't been thinking about Dumbledore, he had been thinking about Ginny. When he broke up with her, he'd expected her to take him more seriously than she did. He had expected there to be more emotion. Then he wondered what would possess him to think anything like that with Ginny.

After breakfast, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny escaped up to Ron's room to talk. Fleur had stopped by to go over wedding plans with Mrs. Weasley, something they were all keen to avoid.

"How have things been with Fleur?" asked Harry as he shut the door behind him.

"Better," said Ginny, "between her and Mum, at least. I still think she's a cow, but don't let Mum hear. She's been in a right state since Bill got hurt."

"How's he?"

"Loads better," said Ron. "He's still pretty ripped up, but everything's healing well enough."

"Bill doesn't mind though," said Ginny, "about his face, you know. He's never been obsessed with his looks or anything. And he says the goblins are much friendlier with him at work. They think the scars give him distinction. So what's this I hear about you lot not going back to school?"

Harry explained to Ginny their reasons, without giving her too much information. There were things that Dumbledore had instructed him not to tell anyone besides Ron and Hermione. He had a hard time keeping things from her, but he figured it was probably for the best. He didn't want to make her any more of a target than she might have already become.

"And I suppose nothing I'll say will change you mind," said Ginny, crossing her arms and looking a little surly.

Harry fought with himself over whether she could or not. But, the part of him that wanted revenge won out over the part of him that wanted to hide in the Burrow with her forever. They all shook their heads. Ginny huffed.

"First Fred and George. Now you," she said, combing her hands through her long, red hair. "What are we going to do for fun? Gryffindor is going to be boring and no quidditch. Wish Mum'd let me stay herewith you guys."

"You'd be better off at school," said Harry. "Besides, we aren't going to be at the Burrow for much longer."

"What are you planning on doing?" asked Hermione. "I mean, after Fleur and Bill's wedding."

"I'm going to Godric's Hollow to visit my parents' graves," said Harry, "and then continuing from where Dumbledore left off."

"After we take our Apparition tests, of course," said Ron. "I don't think I could handle taking the Knight Bus all over the country. I feel like puking just thinking about it."

They all stopped talking when they heard a high pitched squeal come from downstairs.

"Ah, eet's beautiful!"

Ginny made retching sounds and flung herself over the side of Ron's bed. She came up after the noise stopped, and joined in laughing with Harry, Ron and Hermione.

* * *

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